Blackened Skies
by Eva Galana
Summary: Three Wardens from different universes are thrust into the Blight of a fourth by forces unknown. Adela Tabris: DragonAge: The Halla Reborn; Alim Surana: Wyl's The Little Hero; Malcolm Cousland: mackillian's 30 Dragon & In Peace We Lie series - SPOILERS
1. Chapter 1

_This story arises from a challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys forum: Different Wardens Come Together. So, here's my entry. _

_I've 'borrowed' Wardens from two of my fellow Monkeys: _

_Wyl's Alim Surana from _The Little Hero

_mackillian's Malcolm Cousland from her _30 Dragon _and _In Peace We Lie series_._

_My warden is Adela Tabris from _DragonAge: The Halla Reborn_._

_You can find both Wyl and mackillian on my profile for links to their stories. _

_Blackened Skies_

_Chapter 1_

She rose, her knees shaking, as she took in her surroundings. They were so similar and yet, so terribly different.

Denerim. She knew this place, this city. She had grown up here, lived most of her twenty years within the walls of the Alienage.

But now, it was barely recognizable to her. Familiar landmarks were now little more than burnt out rubble, blackened skeletal remains tumbled to the ground in lifeless heaps.

She shook her blond head, turning around, her bow in her hand, her supple leather armor moving with each movement as a second skin. How she got here was only one question on her mind. Another - _why_? - was subverted by one that blossomed more predominately than any other.

_What happened?_

The last thing she remembered was…she shook her head, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. _Redcliffe_. They had just finished collecting on the last of their treaties, and were preparing to leave for Denerim. She shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts more clearly, but they just came to her as a jumble, unclear and muddled. Faces - those of Arl Eamon, Alistair, Roland - rolled through her mind, and she pressed light fingertips to her temples, trying to clear her thoughts.

A sharp pain erupted behind her eyes, and she gasped, doubling over as she clutched at her face. Her memories swirled within her mind, disjointed, and she could not put together any coherent memories beyond Redcliffe. She knew, however, that this was not where she had most recently been. She was certain that she was residing with the Castle Redcliffe.

She looked up into the swirling chaos of the sky above. The skies had been blackened by the Blight. However, the malevolent maelstrom that now roiled above had not come to life by the time they had reached Redcliffe. A hand pressed a hand to her eyes, shaking her head. That she was not only in Denerim, after a great battle was worrying. That she was there - alone - was more so.

Deep blue eyes lifted, she raised her face to the sky, opened her senses to her surroundings, frowning as she took in the fallen buildings, long ago burnt to the rafters and framework. The dirt beneath her feet was blackened. Bending down, a slender, calloused hand grasped a handful of the earth, watching as it fell between her fingers. All moisture - all life - from the soil drained away, leaving only tainted dust behind.

Even to her stunted senses, she could feel the darkspawn around her, the malevolent presence of the greater being just at the peripheral of her senses. Quickly she rose, casting about her one last time, and paced away from the market's center, away from the creaking hinges of the gates to the Alienage, and began making her way to the Noble District.

0O0

A long fingered hand brushed back the reddish brown mane of hair from his scarred face as he turned a circuit, surveying his surrounding. This was his city, of that he was certain. He recognized the Palace just beyond the twisted ruin of iron gates.

Large, emerald green eyes skimmed over the scenery, his hand pulling the slightly curve bladed longsword free of the sheath at his back, silvery runes gleaming in the harsh gray light. He could feel the presence of darkspawn, and a larger, more ominous presence.

A presence he had thought he had destroyed months earlier….

This was wrong, all of it. He knew that. This was no dream. As a mage, he would know if he was in the Fade or not. This was too real…shaking his head, the scarred elf turned about, his heart clenching at the thought of _his _home…his wife…

He turned about, racing away from the district's core, blade drawn, as he made his way to his estate. His home.

_Leliana_…

Her name - the name of his wife, the woman he loved more than life - resounded through his brain, the tempo matching his footfalls as he raced through the debris strewn grounds, leaping over objects he truly did not want to identify, he made his flight through the district. He pulled up short once he reached the decimated remains of what had been the Manor of Denerim, former home of the Arl of Denerim, current home of the Hero of Ferelden and his wife.

Green eyes glazed over as he pushed himself forward, screaming her name - _Leliana_! - into the ruins before him. The destruction had been so complete, he knew that no one resided within. Hope, fear, concern pushed him on, opened his mouth to cry out her name, listening as the sound of his voice vanished into the blackened ruins.

Spinning about, his gaze turned toward the high, stone behemoth of Fort Drakon and he suddenly realized that, although he could feel the presence of darkspawn and the archdemon, he had not seen nor felt any other life - human, dwarven or elven.

"What happened?" He whispered to himself, his scarred features twisting in confusion. He clearly remembered the passage of time - Morrigan's ritual, the defeat of the archdemon, moving into the behemoth of a mansion that lay in ruins behind him…he and Leliana had planned a sabbatical from the whole 'saving the world thing' and suddenly…well, now the city he and his friends had bled so much to save was a ruined carcass about him.

And there was an archdemon somewhere in the distance.

Had Morrigan's ritual somehow failed?

Mustering himself, gripping his blade tightly, the elf turned from the ruins of his home, and turned about, running with blade drawn, toward the palace.

Perhaps Alistair would know what had befallen the city…

0O0

Vision blurred, the young man stumbled to his knees, the flat of his hands hitting the ground with a sharp resounding _slap_. Just moments ago, he was arguing - _again _- with Liadan. Of course, it he had not intended to argue with the prickly elf. It just, well, kind of happened to end that way.

Blinking furiously, the tall warrior rose, taking note that he was dressed in his silverite warden armor, sword and shield upon his back. _Now I am really confused_…he thought blandly as he straightened. _Wasn't I just wearing a warden's tunic and breeches?_ He gave a testing swing of his sword.

Before his vision focused, before he lifted his head, he knew that wherever he was it was _wrong_. The air was heavy, reminiscent of the time of the Blight, over not so very long ago.

When his eyes opened, he saw how wrong it truly was.

Denerim. The seat of Ferelden's power. Once the brightest jewel of Ferelden's few cities.

Now a desolate wasteland, over which gloomed a hostile, black sky.

Malcolm took a deep breath, rubbing a hand through his dark blond hair, amber eyes blinking rapidly to clear them of the persistent blur that affected his vision.

_Maybe this is a dream_, he conjectured, turning about, instinctively pulling his blade and shield from his back, arming the shield as he opened up his senses, not truly needing to do so to feel the army of darkspawn that roamed the streets.

"Okay, maybe not a dream," he muttered as he turned his face upwards, staring up at the ruined top of Fort Drakon. He noticed the funnel of a black tornado slope down from the black clouds, twisting its fury along the roof of the ancient stone structure.

"Oh," he whispered as his senses told him that more than just darkspawn dwelled within the city. "That's not good."

Dream or not, it felt very real. He cautiously tapped an armored foot to the ground. "Feels real," he muttered to himself, cringing as the old habit of talking to himself asserted itself yet again. "Damn," he turned, clutching his sword tightly in his hand, his hand tightening around the grip of his shield. "Definitely not good."

The Warden shook his head, wary of any approaching darkspawn, loathe to just wander around. He did not feel as though he was dreaming. Nor as though he was trapped in the Fade (an experience he hoped to never repeat). The familiar weight of his armor upon his shoulders caused his skin to twitch, and the weight of blade and shield in his hands added to the reality of where he was.

But, if he was awake, did that mean that his journeys throughout the Blight - with Alistair, Leliana, Liadan…Morrigan…had all been a dream?

Shaking his head, he could feel the approach of darkspawn. Hurlocks, mostly. Just grunts, as far as his senses could tell. He was a Grey Warden, sworn to battle these creatures. But, he was a lone Grey Warden, and he had no idea exactly what had happened here. Well, other than the obvious fact that the Blight had a firm grip upon the city, if not all of Ferelden.

Using caution that his companions and friends would have sworn the young man did not possess, Malcolm crept away from the approaching tainted creatures, moving with cautious ease to make his way to the palace.

Whatever was happening, he needed answers. He needed to learn what had happened, what _was _happening, and how he could be having a discussion one moment, and then standing, battle ready, in a Blighted city the next.

With these thoughts, he made his way away from the Fort, and toward the palace. With hopes that his brother would have some answers for him.

_Yeah, right._

0O0

The lonely creaking of the tall, iron gates sent chills along his spine, and the elven mage stood, taking in the desolate structure before him. Bodies lay, forgotten and abandoned. Men, women and children lay alongside the bodies of soldiers - dwarven, elven and human - throughout the district, most burned beyond recognition, only their size depicting from what race, age or gender they had belonged to in life. Alim suppressed the shudder that coursed through him. He felt too much like he was walking through a long forsaken cemetery, the inhabitants so long forgotten that even their ghosts had forgotten who they had once been.

_No need for those thoughts, Alim_, the mage scolded himself as he moved through the ruined gates, marching with purpose, his longsword, Spellweaver, held in one hand.

Habit had formed throughout his journey across Ferelden, and those habits, despite months after ending the Blight, had remained with him. Honestly, he did not think that the habits would ever die.

Despite being focused upon the building before him and despite believing that no threat remained in this part of the city, his senses, granted him by the sipping of a poisoned chalice, kicked in. Twirling about, he cast a protective spell over him, spinning quickly to parry the tainted longsword that careened toward his head. Giving Spellweaver a twist, the small elven mage turned the foe's blade, twisting it down toward the ground. Lifting one hand free of the blade's hilt, he called forth his magic, slamming the palm of his hand to the hurlock's grinning face, blasting it with lightening. The powerful spell discharged into the creature's face, splitting through the tough hide, slicing into the bone and brain beyond and free once more. The force of the spell caused the head to explode in a gory shower of blood, bone and brain matter, and the mage grimaced as he stepped away, turning quickly to meet the oncoming darkspawn as they flowed from the burnt shadows surrounding the palace.

Almost without thought, the skilled mage tossed a ball of ice at one approaching genlock, preparing another spell as it froze solid. With a casual toss of the wrist, the elf sent crashing into the frozen genlock a great fist of stone, turning as the creature shattered into so many pieces of bloodied shards of quickly thawing ice.

More darkspawn poured from the shadows, into the courtyard, chuckling their dark laughters, chittering away as they approached their prey. Dozens surrounded the elf, and Alim continued to cast spells and parry away blades as he could, but he was certain that he saw his death in each of those grinning faces.

Never one to admit defeat, the little elf was determined that he would take as many of the blighted creatures with him as he could.

Surprise replaced determined acceptance as arrows began to rain from above, piercing into the encroaching darkspawn with systematic accuracy. He did not take his eyes from the genlock before him to look for whomever shot the arrows. However, when that darkspawn fell over dead, a gray fletched arrow sticking from one eye, the mage raised his head, taking note of the small elven woman who hopped from the shadows, notching an arrow with quick precision and shot it at a hurlock. He blinked when she turned briefly to flash him a white toothed smile and then melted into the shadows once more.

0O0

Darkspawn poured through the ruined gates of the palace. Adela could sense them and she moved quickly, slipping into the cool shadows, her bow in hand notching an arrow as she paced toward the open, twisted gates.

As she approached, she shifted her bow to her shoulder, hands grasping the uneven stone wall before her, seeking hand holds and began to slowly pull herself up the side of the wall. The sounds of battle came to her ears, the tingle of magic dancing along her senses. Pulling herself to the top of the wall, she crouched down, bow once more in her hands, notching an arrow as her blue eyed gaze took in the scene below her.

Dozens of the tainted creatures swarmed the courtyard below, crowding around one small, slender figure. Spells flashed from the figure's hands and a blade gleaming silver light swept into the rush. Reaching out with her senses, she focused upon the figure, determining that he was a Grey Warden. Confusion flashed over her briefly as she set her aim, and began to rain death into the black swam below.

Certain that the two of them - mage and rogue - could not hope to defeat so many darkspawn, Adela scrambled down the wall, keeping well into the shadows, seeking a way to extricate the mage from the crush. She looked up in time to see the blade of genlock raised to cleave into the distracted mage - she was certain now that it was an elf, despite the hood pulled over the figure's head - and quickly notched an arrow, letting it loose, straight into the thing's eye. The mage had turned and was now facing her. Giving the other elf a quick smile, the rogue slipped back into the shadows as the mage turned back to the press.

A cry - a battle cry she had heard from only two others - came crashing over the courtyard, loud, harsh and strong. Turning, she watched as a tall silverite clad figure burst into the yard, the shield upon one arm emblazoned with the standard of the Grey Wardens, the longsword sweeping into the oncoming darkspawn bodies, cleaving many in half as he smashed the shield into the grinning faces of others. The darkspawn in the yard paused briefly, taking in the addition of a third foe, and resumed their assault.

0O0

This just wasn't right! But then again, with darkspawn, were things ever?

Malcolm surged into the courtyard, aware that there was at least one other Grey Warden in the area, perhaps a second (although he could not quite tell). Darkspawn dead lay scattered upon the ground, killed by spell, blade or arrow. Yet, more continued to assail the figure in the courtyard's center, while another hidden person continued to rain arrows into the horde.

He gave a great shout - Highever's battle cry - capturing the attention of many of the blighted beasts. Several broke off from assailing the small figure in the center - obviously a mage - and rushed at the warrior. Bracing himself, he bashed forward with his shield, smashing the hurlock's face in as he drove his blade deeply into its exposed chest.

Battle instincts took over. After all, day to day life for the young warden consisted of battling the darkspawn. The Blight had not been defeated so very long ago that he had been granted any reprieve from the battles. Blade sliced out, shield bashed and smashed darkspawn to the ground, and he waded through the crush of tainted bodies, working his way to the side of the mage who continued to throw spells and cut with that strangely glowing blade, aware that arrows continued to rain down from the shadows into the darkspawn midst.

0O0

The elven mage glanced up briefly as the large human fought just off his side and, with a short nod, continued to cut down the darkspawn. As the crowd about them tightened, more war cries filled the yard, and the pair glanced up and over to the stairway that led into the palace. Guardsmen - shaggy, clad in the battered livery of the Crown, burst through the now obviously reinforced doors and swept into the fray, slashing and cutting, crying out with anger, into the darkspawn.

And, as the two Grey Wardens battled, they saw the slender form of a tiny elven woman flow from the shadows, scaling the wall once again. She stood above them, no longer hidden in the veil of the shade, bow in hand, as she once again rained death down into the darkspawn.

0O0

Between the three Grey Wardens and the soldiers of the Crown, the incursion of darkspawn was defeated, for a time at least. Adela swept down the wall to stand beside the other two Grey Wardens, watching as a man with the insignia of Captain upon his shoulder pushed his way through the soldiers to stand before the three newcomers.

"I am Guard Captain Martins," the tall man, disheveled but with attempts at maintaining some semblance of grooming appropriate for his rank, greeted the trio.

Frowning, Adela stepped closer. "I do not recognize you, Guard Captain," the elf said rather than introduce herself. Beside her, Malcolm and Alim exchanged confused looks.

Apparently, Captain Martins was as confused. "I am sorry," he said, his deep voice betraying his irritation as well as tiredness. "How would an…_elf _have any knowledge of who was or was not Guard Captain to the Queen?"

Blowing a breath, trying hard not to be offended, Adela shook her head. "I…I'm sorry, Guard Captain. Let me start again." She extended a tiny hand to the large human, mindful of the fact that the soldiers were watching her - and the other two Wardens - with curiosity and suspicion. "I am Adela Tabris, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

That got a reaction from all three men near her. The Guard Captain's face eased, the tension therein slipping away with relief. The other two, however, continued to exchange confused looks.

"A Grey Warden!" The Captain exclaimed, gripping her hand tighter. "You have no idea…"

"Hold a tick," Malcolm stepped forward, staring at the small elven woman who claimed to be the Commander of the Grey. "I am Malcolm Cousland," he took note of the narrowing of eyes now, the step back the Captain took. "A Grey Warden as well."

Eyes went next to Alim, who blinked emerald green eyes rapidly, a slight shake of his dark head. Slipping the hood of his cloak from his head, eyes narrowing at the expected reactions - the Captain's intake of breath was expected; however, the inaction of the two Wardens beside him came to him as a surprise - he replied, "I am Alim Surana," he glanced over at Adela before replying, "Also a Grey Warden."

"Captain," one of the men behind them called. "We need to take them in to see the Queen and Regent."

Three pair of eyes - amber, blue and green - turned to fix upon the young soldier, who fidgeted under the intensity of their gazes.

Adela noticed that both male Grey Wardens stiffened at the young soldier's words, eyes narrowing as they glared at the young man.

Turning to the Captain, Alim said in a quiet voice. "Yes, Captain," the other two Wardens turned to watch the small elven man. "Take us to see the…Queen and…Regent."


	2. Chapter 2

_Loving the response to this story. Thank you to everyone who is reading, lurking, alerting and reviewing! Ventisquear, mackillian, Wyl, Reyavie_

_I do not expect this story to take on the magnitude of chapters my other stories have. I'm hoping to keep it under 10 chapters, but, ah, I'm really hoping that I won't be called on it if it exceeds that…_

_Blackened Skies_

_Chapter 2_

The desperation that greeted the three Grey Wardens as they entered the palace was a palpable thing. Adela's face twisted slightly as she took in the ragged appearance of the guards, dim eyes brightening as their presence was whispered along their weary lines.

The palace itself was but a grim shadow of what she had known of it throughout most of her life. Dimly lit and dimmer of spirits - that was what had become of the bastion of Ferelden royalty she remembered as always bright and alive.

She glanced over at her fellow Grey Wardens, curious as to where they were from. Their accents were Ferelden and yet she knew well she had not recruited them. Nor were they at Ostagar - had they been, she was certain that she either would have met them there or would have heard of them during her travels.

Whatever occurrence brought her here obviously brought the elven mage and human warrior as well. She looked up into the curious face of the warrior, watching as his amber eyes glanced to and fro, and she felt a slight tug at her heart as she realized just how closely he resembled Alistair.

The young man caught the elven woman looking at him, and he managed a slight, lopsided grin. That did nothing to ease the tension in her chest and she quickly looked away, catching only the briefest glances of confusion that crossed his handsome face.

The mage to her left was a curiosity as well. He had declared his name as Surana, and, as she looked closer at him, she noted that there were…slight similarities between his features and Artemis'. Of course, the scarring of this elf's face twisted much of his features, making it difficult to say for certain whether he was a relation to her deceased Warden or not. The elf took pains to keep his face hidden deeply within the cowl of his cloak, but Adela was able to make out the sharp, straight nose, the high cheekbones, and delicate chin.

Alim turned his face toward her, his hood slipping slightly. She gave him a small smile, watching as he returned it with a small grimace of his own.

"You say your name is Tabris," Alim remarked in a quiet voice as they continued to follow the soldiers through the corridors to where the Queen and Regent remained. Adela nodded her head in affirmative. "Any relation to Cyrion or Shianni?"

The elven woman smiled as she nodded again. "My father and cousin," she replied quietly, her blue eyes scanning the walls, taking note of subtle changes, her brow furrowing slightly. Where red and gold had gilded the trim of the walls, were now blue and silver. Subtle, slight changes. But changes none the less.

Right now, the elven rogue was wishing that Niall had come along this journey with her. She was certain the scholarly mage would have an idea or two at this time.

Alim was still speaking and so she turned her attention to him. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, silently scolding herself for not paying the man attention, but letting her concentration wander.

The mage gave a slight shrug of his narrow shoulders, causing the cowl to slip that much more. "Did you grow up in the Alienage here in Denerim?"

The young woman took a deep breath, frowning slightly. "I grew up in the Alienage in Denerim," she replied, taking caution with her wording.

Obviously aware of her careful phrasing, the mage fell silent but allowed the slightest of nods before turning, glancing only once at the tall human who walked along with them, his eyes taking in the young man's features - the aquiline nose, strong jaw, amber eyes. Adela wanted to question him as he had her, but they were approaching the doors to the great hall, and they would soon be facing the Queen - Anora most assuredly - and the Regent - hopefully Loghain - within moments.

0O0

The doors stood before them, and one of their guards had left them to herald their entry. The young warden glared at those doors, a tightening in his chest as he considered just what may well stand on the other side.

The guards had said _Regent_. Not the King. _Regent_.

Swallowing the tight lump in his throat, Malcolm ran a hand over his hair, a gesture he had picked up after months of traveling with his brother. As he stood, with the elves who had declared themselves Grey Wardens…his eyes slipped to the tiny figure of the female elf who had referred to herself as the Warden Commander…he fidgeted slightly.

_This wasn't right…this isn't right_…he kept chanting in his head, feeling alone and completely, utterly confused.

_Well, nothing new there!_

He noticed the hard glare the girl was giving the doors, could almost feel the impatience ripple from her. The other elf - the mage - stood beside her, his gaze moving from the doors to the girl to himself and all around, taking in everything and everyone, his deep green eyes glittering from beneath the cowl he wore over his scarred features. Malcolm frowned, wondering what was going on in both elves' minds.

He had not failed to notice that they both seemed as confused by the situation as he. Although he would admit that they seemed to be handling the strange situation a bit better than he was.

That feeling of needing to vomit had not yet gone away, after all.

Shaking his head, he straightened, reminding himself that he had faced worse before. Well, unknowns before. 'Worse' was all relative at this point as he really did not know exactly what or who waited for them beyond the doors.

He was fairly certain, however, that Alistair would not be standing next to his queen when they entered.

0O0

The taller warden kept shifting his feet beside him, and Alim moved slightly to the side, closer to the woman. The other warden - Malcolm - did not seem to realize just how close he came to stepping on Alim's foot.

As they awaited being allowed into the Hall, the mage's quick mind went to work. With little information, there was not much that he could consider.

Other than he was in Denerim. That much was fact. Despite its current state, this was his home, his Arling.

It was also obvious that the Blight had taken hold of the city, and would most likely be rampaging through Ferelden (if it had not already done so).

He glanced again to the woman to his left, and then to the tall human. Both of them had introduced themselves as Grey Wardens. The woman, however, had identified herself as the Commander of the Grey. He frowned at that. After all, _Alistair _was the Commander of the Grey. Considering that she appeared as young - if not younger - than either himself or Alistair, Alim seriously doubted she was the Commander from one of the other countries, with their established Warden Orders centuries old.

Tilting his head slightly, the elven mage reached with his senses. The tainted blood the coursed through the tall human's veins glared brightly to his senses, but the elf…he reached further, this time adding a bit of healing magic to the broadcast. He could feel the taint within her, but it felt so very different from other Grey Wardens.

Yet another mystery to add onto the continuing growing heap of mystery he had somehow landed himself in.

Green eyes glanced up to the ceiling above, hidden within shadows and smoke, and he felt the cowl of his cloak slip slightly from his head as he stared at the ceiling above.

It all seemed entirely possible, despite the improbability of it all, that he was not in his Ferelden any longer.

With luck, he would be able to meet with his fellow Wardens alone so that they could work through this mystery together.

However, for now, the doors were opening and they were being ushered within…

0O0

The Great Hall was as much in shambles as the rest of the palace appeared to be. Very few sconces upon the walls - that same unfamiliar blue and silver - were lit, casting about the room in dreary, wavering shadows. As they walked down the carpeted center, each Warden took note of the stains - dark, sinister - that appeared splattered along the length of the fabric. At the end, just before the dais where stood the throne, was a larger blemish.

_Blood_.

Dried, at least months old, darkened to near black…some attempt had obviously been made to clean it up, however the fabric still held the dark testimony that this chamber had seen violence - and recently. Adela blinked, shuddering slightly at the thought of the permanent reminder of some violent act within the chambers she would always consider to be the seat of Anora and Cailan's rule.

Alim's green eyes fixed upon the stain, a frown furrowing between his brow as he turned to scan the length and breadth of the blood field. His scan stopped mid way back toward the throne, recalling that Alistair's execution of Loghain had occurred further from the dais than the blood stain they now faced testified to.

Stomach twisting at the implication, the elven mage quickened his pace, distancing himself somewhat from the stain, glancing back at the human Warden, who stood, staring at the stain for a moment, confusion causing his brow to knit tightly together. Malcolm gave a slight shake of his head before resuming his pace, quickening his steps to catch up with the elves.

So mystified by the blood stain the three Wardens had not taken note of the woman who sat upon the throne until they had passed the grim blemish. As one, they raised their heads, taking in the haggard yet haughty features of the woman settled upon the ancient throne.

Anora. Queen of Ferelden. Cool blue eyes, heavy with dark circles and lines, scanned over the three figures, her lips tightening into a thin line. High cheekbones shadowed gaunt cheeks, her chin sharp, lines about her mouth and eyes forming a map of worry and distress. As her eyes settled upon the three Wardens, the tension eased slightly and she spoke in a voice that was clear as it rang throughout the Hall.

"Greetings, Wardens," she gave a slit tilt of her blonde head and all three Wardens, once recovered from their initial shock of the state with which Anora - a woman they recalled as calm, beautiful, cool and yet warm - greeted them, bowed at the waist, arms folded across their chests in the Warden greeting. "I see that the Wardens from Orlais has finally answered our appeal."

Stunned, the three rose, glancing at one another uneasily. Alim stepped forward, bowing again before the Queen. "The Wardens have answered, Your Majesty," he replied quietly, not risking a glance to the other Wardens he had no opportunity yet to acquaint himself with.

Anora nodded slightly, turning her head as a door from one of the side chambers opened. The three Wardens turned, watching as Loghain entered the room.

Dressed in his trademark armor - heavy plate he had divested from a vanquished Chevalier during the rebellion - stalked into the room, making his presence known even in his silence. His blue eyes - so reminiscent of Anora's yet far colder - studied the three Wardens before the Queen.

Beside him, Alim took note that Adela stifled a smile, her lovely face twisting into confusion as she watched the man enter the room.

_Well_, he thought to himself, his eyes skimming once more to the blood stain behind them, _not Loghain's blood._

Opposite Adela, who stood between them, Malcolm stiffened, his amber eyes hardening as the Regent stepped to the lower step of the dais, his eyes penetrating and hard.

"I had heard that Wardens had made their way to the city," he stated cautiously, his voice as hard and cold as his eyes, so much like ice.

"Where are the Wardens that were assigned to Ferelden?" Malcolm demanded stepping forward, hand clenching at his side.

Silently, Loghain studied the young man before him, his brow twisting slightly as the similarities between Malcolm and Maric came into focus. The similarities between this young Warden and another not lost on the Teyrn.

"Certainly you had heard of their…defeat at Ostagar," the Regent drawled after a moment, his eyes ever focused upon Malcolm.

"At least now you are not saying that they betrayed the King!" Malcolm shot back, eyes narrowing as he took one threatening step forward.

Those eyes still searched the young man's features, a frown turning the corners of his thin lips downward. Like Anora, Loghain appeared bedraggled, careworn and pale.

"Who are you?" the Regent demanded, now glaring at the young man.

It was Adela who spoke, stepping forward to place a small hand upon Malcolm's arm. "I am Adela, these," she gestured to the men with her. "Are Malcolm and Alim. We are Grey Wardens and we want to help…"

Turning to the elf, Loghain scowled. "My men tell me you introduced yourself as the Warden Commander."

Scolding herself for that slip, aware now that this was not _her _Denerim, nor _her _Ferelden, Adela nodded slightly. "I do claim that title. Although these two…" she gestured at the men, "are not under my command."

"Where did your orders come from?" Anora asked, still seated upon the throne, her hands crossed demurely in her lap.

The three Wardens allowed a glance to one another. "We have not received any orders," Alim stated, turning to face the Regent once more, feeling slightly strange at speaking with a man he knew well was dead. Dead by Alistair's sword…

This information caused Loghain to turn away, stomping along the foot of the dais. "The Wardens did not send you?" he demanded with fury, turning toward the three. "Why are you here?"

"You have a Blight to contend with," Malcolm spoke up, shaking himself from his anger as he tried to address this man as civilly as he could. Other thoughts ran through his mind, even as he comprehended that this was not the Thedas he had been born to: _If Loghain lived, what of Howe?…Where was Fergus?…Alistair?…_He visibly shook his head, clearing away those thoughts and doubts for now. "Why are you questioning when three Wardens offer you their assistance?"

Those blue eyes settled upon Malcolm's features once more, narrowing slightly. Before he could answer, however, Anora cut in. "He is correct, Father," she stressed the words, rising from the throne to step the next lower step. "We need the Wardens, if we are to stop the Blight."

Silence fell, and Loghain finally gave a reluctant nod to his daughter, the Queen. With a fierce scowl, the man turned once more to the trio.

"I ask you again," Malcolm pressed, "where are the Wardens that had traveled across Ferelden and back to fight the Blight?"

"They are dead," Anora responded, frowning at her father's back. Surprised, the three looked up, each wearing an expression of disbelief, anger and confusion. Taking a deep breath, Anora turned, settling back upon the throne.

"There were two Wardens, two who had somehow survived the _debacle_," she glared at her father now, but continued to speak, "that was Ostagar. They did…" her voice caught slightly here, but she shook her head, regaining her queenly composure. "They did incredible things, gathered armies the elves, dwarves, mages…the Bannorn was ready to fight behind them. However…"

"They committed crimes, Anora," Loghain reminded her. "They failed to protect Cailan on the field of battle, then sought to kidnap you, tried to murder the Teyrn of Highever," here Malcolm stiffened, hands flexing at his side, "and committed other acts of treason against the throne." He turned to face the others. "Their leader, an elf, fought me in a duel. He fought rather bravely," his voice softened slightly, "however, I defeated him. That," he gestured toward the stain the three had tried to ignore. "is all that remains of him. His fellow Warden, a young man who claimed to be Maric's bastard and incite a coup against Anora was executed for treason."

"Treason!" Malcolm surged forward, his blade in his hand as he lunged toward the Teyrn. Loghain, a seasoned warrior, had his sword in hand, barely parrying the blow aside as he stepped away from the enraged young man.

"You are the one guilty of treason!" Malcolm continued as he pressed his advantage against the older man.

"Warden!" Anora called out, rising from her seat.

It was not, however, the Queen's command that stopped Malcolm from pursuing his attack against the other man. He could not move, even though he very much wanted to. A green aura surrounded him, and he stood, still as a statue, within the field. His eyes were all that could move and so he turned them toward the elves, watching as Alim lowered his hands, the green glow that had surrounded them fading.

"I see word of what had happened at Ostagar had gotten beyond Ferelden's borders," the Teyrn said softly, sheathing his blade as he stared at the young man paralyzed before him. "I had thought your features far too familiar, young Warden." He frowned, glancing at the elves who watched silently, but noted the anger upon each face. "I take it you knew the Theirin Warden?"

"My brother," Malcolm managed to bite out.

Rolling his eyes, Loghain stepped away. "Of course," he muttered, shaking his head. "Maric…" he whispered, head hanging.

"What happened to the senior Warden, Riordan?" Alim asked, cutting into Loghain's musings, deciding to leave Malcolm within the paralyzing field for a few more moments.

Confusion knit the brow of Queen and Regent, answering the elven mage's question clearly.

"There were only two Wardens," the Queen answered, confirming Alim's concern.

Shaking his head, the mage frowned. "So, you were facing a Blight and decided that it would do to kill the only Wardens within Ferelden?" he asked, incredulity in his voice.

Adela merely shook her head, trying to keep the sick feeling in her stomach from rising. _It was not my Alistair_, she reminded herself quietly as she glanced back at the blood stain.

"They threatened Ferelden's stability," the Teyrn countered, scowling down at the little elven man.

"I had the feeling that you and Howe were doing a fairly good job at that," the mage countered, eliciting a startled gasp from Adela.

Turning his ire upon the elf, Loghain stalked from the dais, staring down at the elf from a greater height. Alim was rather used to this technique, and stood his ground, staring up into the cold eyes of the human who towered over him.

"What do you know of it, _elf_?" Loghain demanded, shaking with anger.

And perhaps fear.

"Father!" Anora called from the dais, firm command in her voice, her eyes flashing ice as they settled upon the form of her father. "They are here to help! We need them!"

As they spoke, the spell encasing Malcolm had eased and he straightened, flexing his arms, sword still in hand. Adela caught his eye, shaking her head with a frown, however, and, answering her frown with one of his own, he sheathed his weapon with a nod to the elven woman.

Stepping forward, placing herself between the human noble and the elven mage, Adela turned to face Loghain. Her heart skipped, seeing how careworn he was. But, there was a hardness to this Loghain that was not in the one she knew. _This _Loghain had killed the Wardens. He had not denied the accusation of Alim of betrayal at Ostagar.

This was not her Loghain, the Loghain who had been friend to Adaia Mahariel.

This was a Loghain she had never known.

From the reactions of her two companions, she felt very certain that, although they had obviously known other Loghains, this Loghain was much like the ones they had encountered.

Her head was starting to hurt again, and she found herself again very much wishing Niall was by her side, to put this insane situation in perspective for her.

"Please tell us what happened," she said, pushing her thoughts and feelings back, focusing on their current situation.

Loghain's eyes slid from the mage to fix upon the face of the woman. "You were told, _Warden_," he spat. "We killed the Wardens here in Ferelden for subversion."

"Yes, yes," she waved her hand slightly, feeling rather annoyed herself. "What I mean is, what happened after you decided to wholesale slaughter the only two people who could end the Blight for Ferelden?"

Loghain had secured the throne for his daughter as, in one fell swoop, he had rid the country of the troublesome Wardens and Maric's bastard. However, that left Anora to rule over a country that would soon fall to the Blight…

Therefore, he took a deep breath, turning away from the elves, circumventing where Malcolm stood, to take a stance at the second rise to the dais. Anora, meantime, had stepped down from the throne and now stood beside her father, albeit one step above.

Alim realized quite quickly that the Queen and Regent still had their own power plays going on, and he glanced over to Malcolm, who was watching the Regent with intense amber eyes. Adela merely shook her head at the display, obviously simply wanting all nonsense to be done with and the matter of defeating the Blight seen to.

Ice blue eyes narrowed as he realized that all three Wardens would, of course, see the rightful execution of the renegade Wardens as slaughter. And, knowing what he did now, he realized how impetuous and shortsighted that action had been.

_The doors to the Great Hall slammed open, cutting into the speech Loghain had launched into against the upstart Eamon. The Arl, glaring down upon the Teyrn from his lofty perch, turned his graying head, as did his rival. All heads, in fact, turned to watch as the motley crew marched into the Hall, to take a stand before the nobles and their ilk._

_The leader - an elven man with outlandish tattoos adorning his cheeks, forehead and chin - glared at the human man before him. Sword and dagger were sheathed to his back, knives at his hips and, if the noble knew anything, more blades hidden among the numerous pockets and his boots. His black leather armor gave the red headed elf a more ominous appearance, but the Teyrn merely sneered back into the face of the elf._

_The elven warden merely blinked his green eyes at the man, shifting slightly into a more comfortable stance._

_Behind the elf stood The Bastard, daring to wear the armor of the deceased king! Upon his back the Regent took note of Maric's blade, and a shield bearing the rearing griffon heraldry of the Grey Wardens. Loghain had not needed such a device to know that before him stood the only two Grey Wardens left within Ferelden. They had played cat and mouse for over a year with one another. He felt he knew them well._

_Slightly behind the elven warden was another elf…a male, with blond hair wearing blond armor and a smirk upon his handsome features. The Regent startled slightly as he recognized the smug look upon the elf, and realized that this had been the assassin Howe had hired to dispatch the wardens._

_Obviously, the Crow had a change of heart._

_Beside the elven assassin stood a regal appearing Chasind woman, raven hair swept up upon her head, strange yellow eyes watching the Regent with amusement. There was a haughty tilt of her lovely chin, and her eyes darted to the elven warden often, the hardness in her eyes softening for a moment before fixing once more upon the noble. Her clothing was bordering on the obscene, and the staff she held easily in her hands proclaimed her a mage._

_Frowning, the Regent turned his attention back to the elf, and began to issue his challenge._

"The commanding Warden was an elven man," Loghain continued, frowning. "Theron Mahariel," he noted the female's sharp intake of breath as her back straightened, eyes narrowing at the man. Ignoring her reaction, he continued. "Backed by Arl Eamon, the Wardens had sought to put Maric's unproven and _unconfirmed _bastard on the throne. Such an action would have thrown the country deeper into civil unrest," he turned away and began to pace the step, a deep scowl upon his face. "The elf challenged me, and the Landmeet was divided between the two of us." He raised his eyes, frowning. "To break the stalemate, I suggested the duel. The elf accepted. And lost." Eyes skimmed to the dark stain, the frown upon his face more thoughtful.

"Why execute Alistair?" Adela asked in a very quiet voice. The other wardens glanced over at her, taking note of the pain in her voice, each realizing that, for her, Alistair was someone more than just a fellow Warden.

"For treason, of course," Loghain's voice was so firm, so certain, it sent a shiver through Adela. Behind him, Anora merely glared, a frown upon her haggard face.

"That was my first mistake, once I had the Landmeet's approval," Loghain continued, ignoring the rolling eyes of Malcolm. "The armies the Wardens had gathered refused to follow any commands by me. They insisted their treaties were with the Wardens, not Ferelden, and thus left. Returned to their underground dwelling and forest clans. The mages remained. They had no choice in the matter, given that the Chantry had ordered their participation," he turned his head to face the elven mage in their midst. "Even with their assistance, we had too few the face the scourge of darkspawn the descended upon the city."

"Isn't hindsight a wonderful thing?" Malcolm quipped, a scowl still upon his face as he spoke. "I find that if I could only have the hindsight first, you know before I did or said anything, I would save myself a lot of trouble later on." The young man looked up, taking note of the startled expression upon the Regent's face. He grinned, giving a slight shrug. "Just saying, if you have thought that perhaps the Wardens really _did _have the ability to stop a Blight, you could have saved yourself a whole lot of problems."

Shaking his head, Loghain merely snorted at the young Warden, his ice blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Hindsight would indeed benefit a great many throughout history," the older man conceded.

"What happened to Arl Eamon?" Alim asked. "He had the army that did not make it to Ostagar."

Hard eyes met the young mage's green orbs. "We had his army. We had the Arl executed alongside Alistair, and claimed his lands and rights for the Crown."

Eyes widened in shock as the three wardens could only stare at the Regent. "You truly are mad," Alim whispered, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"We cannot tolerate sedition!" the Regent snarled, his face turning red with anger. "Eamon had been trying for years to have Cailan set Anora aside. Digging up an unknown bastard who merely resembled Maric to put forth as a candidate to the throne was treason!"

Adela took note that Anora's eyes rolled slightly at his words, the frown upon her face telling the young elf that Anora had, apparently, not seen Alistair's claim as any threat to her.

"Since when is it good military practice to kill off all combatants during time of war?" Malcolm moved to stand beside the elves, his eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "Especially combatants with unique skill sets?" He frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "My father - ah, my foster father - made a point of drilling in my head that everyone had their own skills to offer in times of crisis. To not do so merely because you disagree is the sign of a shortsighted man."

Silence reigned for many moments, and then Loghain scowled darkly, turning from the trio. "Another miscalculation. Those nobles who had been loyal saw the act of executing Arl Eamon instead of sanctioning the man, thus stripping him of his title, as…extreme. They, too, began to question me. However, they never really had chance to act…"

"Because the archdemon made it's appearance," Alim finished, a thoughtful frown upon his face.

"We managed to battle our way through the throng of darkspawn, to where the archdemon lay in wait."

"The rooftop of Fort Drakon," Malcolm whispered. Adela turned to look at the young man, taking note that the mage was nodding his head.

Thoughtful eyes fixed upon the male wardens, and Loghain nodded. "How did…?"

Alim cut him off. "Please continue, Loghain."

Ignoring the elf's lack of use of his title, Loghain did continue. "The beast had been injured. Terribly so. We ignored the main bulk of the darkspawn, focusing all of our efforts upon the archdemon. We managed to reach its side and killed the blighted thing."

Confusion - and pain - marred Adela's features, but the two men beside her merely nodded their heads, fully expecting what happened next.

"We killed the thing, it was dead!" the Regent insisted, resuming his pacing. "However, one of the darkspawn nearby - an ogre - started to twist and writhe, its body growing at an alarming rate, elongating, taking on the form of a dragon…" He visibly shuddered. "Even over the sounds of battle, you could hear the bones _cracking_!"

"The archdemon was reborn in the body of a nearby darkspawn," Alim finished, nodding as Malcolm mimicked the motion. Adela merely looked at the pair, realizing that this was information she did not have.

Or, did not recall.

"Yes," Loghain breathed out, shaking his head. "We killed almost a dozen of the things before finally admitting that there was nothing for it. By then, our armies had been decimated, the mages all killed. We called for what troops we had remaining to fall back." He raised his head, staring at the three stunned wardens. "For some reason, the archdemon has been satisfied to leave us be, but I know a time will come when we will not be safe here."

"You should have left long ago," Malcolm pointed out, and Loghain nodded.

"You should leave now," Adela put in, frowning. "Is there anywhere you can go."

"Redcliffe," Anora replied immediately, frowning at her father. "The bulk of what is left of our army - along with the citizens of Denerim - have gathered there. Orzammar has offered respite for our citizens, and we know that many are planning that journey."

"That is merely a delay to the inevitable," Alim pointed out, appearing calm but in truth his mind was in a whirl, his stomach threatening to upend itself. "The dwarves will not keep their gates open forever, and, eventually, the Blight will descend into the depths. Orzammar is only a temporary solution."

Silence fell as the elf's words sank in. Anora bowed her head, bringing a hand to rub at her eyes. "Father did not want to leave Denerim, but there is nothing more we can do here." The queen stepped from the dais to stand before the three Wardens. "With you three, however, we now stand a chance to kill the archdemon and end the Blight."

"We won't be able to do it alone, you know," Malcolm remarked bitterly, bending his head back to try and alleviate the tension building in the back of his neck and along his shoulders.

"We need the dwarves and the Dalish," Adela added, slender fingers rubbing along her temple, trying to erase the burgeoning headache with touch. "And any mages we can find." Loghain was shaking his head, but she replied. "We know not all mages are confined to the Circle. There are apostates that could be found."

"How?" the Regent demanded, taking a step toward the small woman.

But the young elf merely smiled. "I have met a great many mages - either life long apostates or escapees from the Circle. Trust me, with the Blight threatening the land, we will be able to find them. Or, they find us."

Loghain merely scowled at the young elf, and Adela did her best to swallow past the hollow feeling that rose in her throat. It unnerved her to have this man - someone so like her friend, but so different - glare down at her.

"Then I say we head off to Redcliffe as the Queen wishes," a new voice - one familiar to each of the Wardens - spoke from a nearby alcove, the figure stepping from the shadows, gray eyes turning to focus upon the face of Anora for a moment before skimming over the stunned features of the wardens. The eyes paused upon Malcolm's face, a frown forming upon the sharp features as Malcolm's face clouded with anger.

"Howe," Loghain greeted the other man as Rendon Howe stepped to the Teyrn's side.

Seething, Malcolm stepped forward, blade once more in his hand. "This man is a murderer!" he proclaimed. "He killed my family!"

Startled, Adela moved toward the other Warden as Alim prepared another spell. Howe merely looked at the enraged Warden with near amusement upon his sharp features, his hawk-like nose shadowing his thin lipped mouth.

"Who are you?" Howe demanded, his eyes once again scrutinizing the young man before them.

"I believe that Maric had another bastard out there we were unaware of," Loghain remarked dryly, shaking his head in the fury of the young warden.

"Truly?" Howe asked, turning to face Malcolm. "Tell me, Warden," he all but purred. "What family of yours have I supposedly killed?"

"The Couslands!" came Malcolm's immediate response.

Both noblemen looked surprised, frowns crossing their features. "You are a Cousland?" Howe asked, eyes once more scanning the young man's features. "I do not recall a third Cousland child."

"Stop," Alim breathed next to the taller human, gripping his arm tightly. "This is not…"

"I _know_!" Malcolm spat, shaking the elf from his arm, but remaining standing still as he continued to glare at the Howe noble before him. "I know," he repeated in a quieter voice.

"We do not have time for this," Adela said, cringing as she, too, knew of the crimes Howe had committed against the Cousland family. It obviously had been another event that coincided with each…Ferelden…she and her companions originated from. "Now is not the time for this. We have to evacuate the Queen and whomever is left to Redcliffe."

Breathing hard, Malcolm's eyes met those of Howe, who watched the other man with curiosity. Realizing that he would only get angrier, Malcolm turned his eyes from the other man's, giving the elven woman a slight nod.

Turning back to the others, her eyes focusing upon Anora's strained features, Adela asked, "How quickly can you be ready to leave, An…Your Majesty?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for taking so long in updating this story. Things kept getting in my way, most especially my muse having run off somewhere, only to return with a hangover! _

_My thanks, as always, to those who lurk, alert, and, most especially, review: Wyl, Ventisquear, alisgal, Reyavie, SpartanCommando_

_Blackened Skies_

_Chapter 3_

With a startled gasp, she awoke, lurching up and forward as the pounding upon her door continued in earnest. Cursing slightly, the elf rose, wrapping a blanket about her shoulders to ward off the chill the weak fire from the chamber's fireplace could not hold back as she made her way to the door. As she turned the knob to open the aperture, she paused, tilting her blonde head, sending out her senses. A sick feeling overcame her, and she tugged the door open to reveal the other two Wardens. She turned her back to them, rushing to where her armor hung as they entered.

"Can you feel that?" Malcolm inquired as he pushed his way into the room, concern etched upon his young, fair face.

Nodding, Adela pulled her armor free, turning her back to the men as she released the blanket and began putting the armor on over the padding she had worn to bed.

"They may have sensed our presence," Alim provided, a frown upon his scarred features. Adela turned to look at her fellow elf, a little surprised that the mage did not have his cowl pulled low over his ruined features as was his want.

"Great," Adele muttered as she sat down upon her bed to tug on her boots. "They've been here…what...weeks? And we're here a day and already have the darkspawn clamoring for blood."

"Could be worse," Malcolm offered with a slight shrug as he handed the elf her bow and daggers.

Quirking a brow at the tall man, Adela frowned, pausing in her adjustments of her armor and weapons. "How could it be worse?"

Staring at her for a moment, the young man shrugged. "I was rather hoping you'd have an idea."

Snorting, Alim shook his head as he raised a slender hand to pull the cowl of his cloak over his head and low to his eyes. "There is a need to leave…now." The mage urged, scowling out the opened door. With a nod, the other two Wardens followed after the lithe elf, weaving in and out of the crowd of frantic guards and soldiers as they hurried to evacuate the no longer safe haven of the palace.

"Where is the Queen?" Adela asked after a moment.

"Throne room," came Malcolm's disjointed reply. "Just the way Alim's heading now."

Nodding, the pair followed after the quick moving elven mage.

0O0

"Why are they moving now?" Anora asked heatedly, frustration and fear mingled within the lines that marred her features, watching as the soldiers and guards scurried to gather up the Queen and articles of State she would no doubt require on the road.

With a heavy sigh, Alim continued forward, tilting a shoulder slightly as he spoke. "It is more than likely the Archdemon has sensed the presence of Grey Wardens," he glanced back at the other Wardens as they entered the chambers and approached.

Loghain entered just behind the pair, Howe trailing behind. Malcolm turned his head from the pair, but Adela gave each man – her eyes mostly centered upon Loghain – a slight nod before turning back to the Queen.

"So your very presence has threatened us?" Loghain scowled as he stepped to the mage's side, obviously having caught what the mage had said as he frowned down upon the smaller man. "This is the vaunted Grey Warden skill against Darkspawn? Alerting them to their presence?"

"Just as we can sense them, they can, to a degree, sense us," the elven mage acknowledged, keeping his temper as well as he could. However, before he could let out the rest of his words, Malcolm had stepped to the mage's side, a dark frown upon his fair face.

"So, is this where you decide to execute the last of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden?" the young man snarked out, honey-gold eyes fixed firmly upon the Teyrn's face.

Behind them, the queen gasped, opening her mouth to speak. Her blue eyes sought out the elven woman – Adela – blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Adela shook her head, moving out of the way of the hurrying servants, oblivious to the fact that Howe had moved just to her side, watching the drama of the human warden facing off against Loghain with words.

Fury burned behind the icy blue eyes of the Hero of River Dane, and fury marred his voice, decided his tense movements as he turned to face the younger man fully. "It had crossed my mind."

"Father!" Anora shouted, stepping from the dais to stand before her father. "We need them! Have you not learned from your missteps at the Landsmeet?"

"I said it had crossed my mind, Anora," Loghain's voice calmed, weary, as he turned to his daughter. "I did not say that I had ordered it."

"You know," Adela stated from behind everyone, "we have a darkspawn army readying itself against us," she waved a hand about the chamber, pointing towards the scurrying servants. "We should already be leaving, not standing here gathering…" she frowned, staring at an object in a servant's hand she could not identify, "whatever," she finished.

Beside her, Howe chuckled darkly, and Adela's spine stiffened at the sound, a memory forming in her mind, of a time she heard that same sound. A memory drenched in blood and death, and she shivered at the reminder of the battle deep within the bowels of the Denerim Estates.

Howe moved away from her, watching from the corner of his eye, as he made his way around the others, never intruding upon the space occupied by the other nobles nor the Grey Wardens, his gray eyes sharp and watchful.

As she watched the noble, Adela shook herself, freeing herself of the memory, reminding herself that her own experiences had little to do with what was happening here at this time. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the others.

"I'm still of a mind that you were crazy to remain here," her eyes went directly to Anora, who turned stunned eyes to the elf as Adela ignored Loghain. "So, let's just leave the gold behind and get out with our lives, shall we?"

With those words, Adela turned on her heel, and the other Grey Wardens, with a last look to the queen and the nobles, followed as she led them out of the palace and to the courtyard.

0O0

The trek to Redcliffe was largely uneventful. There were few darkspawn roaming the main highway, seeming to rather remain within the wilderness or, more than likely, the city of Denerim. After a discussion regarding their prior visits to the Deep Roads during the Blight, the young wardens were of a mind that the darkspawn preferred being as near to the Archdemon as possible. It would explain – reasonably – why they had so few encounters during their flight from the capitol to the small fishing village of Redcliffe.

Redcliffe Castle loomed in the distance, overshadowing Lake Calenhad, casting a pall over the village itself. The red brick fairly gleamed against the nearly black sky.

Of the village itself there was no life. All inhabitants of the once lively hamlet had fled to the castle or, more than likely, from Ferelden's borders altogether.

Once ensconced within the ancient walls of the castle, the wardens began their plans. For each of them, it was strange and a little uncomfortable to have Loghain and Howe in their midst, making plans for gathering, once again, upon the treaties that Mahariel and Alistair had managed to earlier that year. Malcolm, more than any of them, had the most difficulty. It was almost painfully obvious that his history with both men had been far more painful and hostile than that of Adela or Alim.

For her part, Adela had managed to succeed in reminding herself that the Loghain and Anora from this world were not her friends. The more she interacted with them, the easier it came for her. Where her Loghain was calm and reasonable, this one was paranoid and hostile. Her Anora was caring and decisive; this one was cold as ice and calculating.

She was just glad that no blood had been shed thus far. She had to give Malcolm credit – he had managed to rein in his tongue and temper, meeting with each in an effort to formulate a plan and engaging in the conversation and planning with reason and experience.

The first order of business was gathering once again on the treaties. Of course, they did not have the Circle of Magi to call upon, since nearly all of the mages and Templars had died during the initial assault upon the Archdemon. And, despite her brave words earlier, Adela wondered how easily they could find apostates in a Blight ravaged country. More than likely, any surviving mages had fled Ferelden's borders, seeking safer climes in which to hide.

Briefly, she wondered if the Anders and Morrigan of this world were free, or even alive. It was something for her to consider. Morrigan, if she survived, would more than likely have returned to the Wilds. Of course there were many variables regarding the swamp witch's whereabouts, such as if Flemeth had been killed or not; if Morrigan had even joined in the wardens' quest against the Blight.

If Morrigan even existed.

Shaking her head, the elven woman turned her attention back to the discussion at hand, determined to try and find a way to search out those few apostates she had known during her own travels.

The dwarves, however, had returned to their underground realm, taking with them any human and elven refugees desiring to go. And while the young wardens did not necessarily relish the idea of returning to the undercity, the dwarves were paramount to defeating the Blight.

"What of the Dalish?" Howe had asked as he circled the table, eyes pinned to the map of Ferelden centermost upon the flat surface.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged; Adela frowned, her brow furrowed in thought.

"The clans would not have remained within Ferelden," Adela said, working through the problem aloud. Those in the room nodded their agreement. Raising her eyes, she looked from one haggard face to another. "Would they be able to gain passage to the Free Marches?"

Malcolm tilted his head, frowning slightly before nodding. "It is possible," he admitted. "I have a friend who is Dalish, and she once told me of how they could book passage across the sea to the Free Marches." As he spoke the words, his thoughts went to Liadan, and how much he missed his fiery tempered Dalish friend.

"Why would you think they would not go to Orlais?" Alim asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

Adela shrugged. "Orlais treats elves worse than they do here in Ferelden," Both elves frowned. "I cannot see them doing more than passing through Orlais to a safer location in which to set camp."

"This will take too long!" Loghain snarled, slamming a fist to the table. Started, Howe jumped back, scowling over at his fellow nobleman.

"You could have prevented all of this if you had just not killed the wardens!" Malcolm all but shouted, his face a mask of anger at the Teyrn.

His face a mask of rage mirroring the young Warden's, Loghain raised a finger to the other man, preparing to launch into another tirade. It was Alim who diffused the situation.

"Let us know revisit this issue again," the elven warden reprimanded both the noble and warden. "The two of you have already had your opportunity to shout at one another. Now is not the time to rehash old history."

Both men glared at the elf, who managed to glare back at each with ample vitriol. Malcolm's glare softening after a moment and, stepping back he nodded, turning to fix his eyes once more to the map, obviously trying to keep his own temper in check.

After another moment, Loghain, too, nodded, turning his attention back to the map.

"There is another issue we must address," Alim stated as he glanced from one face to another, taking in the weariness and subtly simmering anger beneath the features. "Do we even have the treaties?"

"Would the dwarves and elves simply not recall that the Wardens had called them prior and come once more now that we have Grey Wardens to honor those promises?" Howe asked from his position at the back of the table, hawkish features scrunched in thought.

The elven mage simply shrugged his shoulders, and Adela groaned beside him, placing a hand to her eyes. She recalled, vividly, how cumbersome it had been to gather on the treaties the first time around. Without the actual documents…

"Hold a sec," she reached into the pouch at her hip, pulling free the documents therein contained. Shuffling through the various documents contained therein – letters from Duncan, notes regarding the stronghold – she gave a sharp cry of victory as she pulled free the three wax covered pages of the treaties.

"Lucky these came over with me, eh?" The elf crowed in triumph as she handed the pages first to Malcolm, who then pressed them into Alim's hands. Adela ignored the questioning looks from Anora, Loghain and Howe as she watched her fellow wardens peruse the documents.

"These are them," Malcolm said after a few minutes studying the documents.

"How did you get those?" Loghain finally asked, scowling over at the trio. "I seem to recall having taken custody of those documents."

"Where are they?" Alim asked, completely ignoring the noble's question by asking one of his own.

Running a heavy hand over his eyes, the Teyrn bowed his head, a scowl prominent upon his face. "I lost them during the battle with the Archdemon."

"Hmph," Malcolm huffed out. "Well, let's just say that we Wardens try to be a bit more…prepared."

"Copies?" Howe asked, glancing at the documents the elven mage continued to hold.

"Certainly," Alim responded.

Silence fell upon the group, broken suddenly by Adela.

"So," she sighed, reaching over to retake the documents from Alim. "Where do we start? The dwarves or the Dalish?"

Tapping a long finger to his chin, a grin spread across his face, unseen from the depths of his cowl. "Perhaps the first matter should be to put out the word to any mages remaining within Ferelden's borders?" Candlelight glittered in his eyes as he raised them to look at the elven woman.

A grin crossed her face, unknowingly matching that of the mage. "Alim, I was just thinking the same thing."


End file.
